


baby one touch ( take the weight off )

by babyamas



Series: we have not touched the stars [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Allusions to anxiety/panic attacks, Elements of magical realism, M/M, Sakusa's touch aversion, nothing too graphic or that goes into too much detail though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyamas/pseuds/babyamas
Summary: Baby, you're gonna have to be patientIt's gonna take some adjustment letting down my walls//There's nothing Kiyoomi hates more than asking for help. Except maybe asking Miya Atsumu for help. Luckily, he doesn't have to.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: we have not touched the stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705186
Comments: 15
Kudos: 290
Collections: SakuAtsu Week 2020





	baby one touch ( take the weight off )

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Day 1 of the Sakuatsu Week (Hands/Touch). I hope you enjoy!!!!!

It starts like an itch. 

Kiyoomi is aware of his teammates like he’s aware of anyone in his life. He notices things about them that others maybe don’t simply because of how he was raised. He’s been taught to look at others with a more critical eye because sometimes others’ actions make Kiyoomi’s entire body shake, fists clenched too tightly by his side, well-trimmed nails making angry half-moons into his palms. Sometimes when someone gets too close Kiyoomi’s chest collapses and he finds it hard to breathe. Sometimes he has to escape into an empty room so he doesn’t feel like he’s breathing another person’s dead skin cells. 

Some days he finds it hard to leave his room because his skin feels like it is not his own and any accidental touch will light him on fire, burning flesh, muscles, and bone all at once. 

But this starts like an itch. 

Right in the middle of his right palm, where his life and love line connect is an itch, really more like a prickle and he scratches at it with the nail of his left index finger. It subsides for a few hours but then it’s back and Kiyoomi knows he shouldn’t but he scratches at it again and again. 

He washes his hands, moisturizes and even uses his thumb to massage the area he keeps feeling the prickling around but nothing makes it go away for longer than a few hours. Volleyball practice is long and more than a few times he messes up a serve, a spike, a pass because his hand is itching. It’s embarrassing so he offers no explanation to his teammates when they throw him questioning looks. A simple ‘sorry’ and a huff is all he gives them even when he makes fundamental mistakes he grew out of in middle school. 

At night, he ices his hand and that dulls the itch just slightly, giving Kiyoomi a longer break than he’s been getting these past couple of days. In the morning though the itch starts again and won’t let up and god, he’s growing restless. 

On the fourth day, his coach notices something is wrong and tells him to sit out for this practice, get some rest because he looks like he needs it. Kiyoomi doesn’t argue, but he’s not happy about it. He sees the team nurse and she gives him an ointment for it that does nothing but make him even itchier. He sticks to washing his hands for too long, too often, and icing it at night. 

The next day he sits out again but this time he stays in the open gym the team practices in and watches them, huffing every time someone misses a shot he wouldn’t have or they serve out of bounds. It’s frustrating to know your own skills and not to be able to execute them. Kiyoomi knows he’s good and everyone knows he’s good but this itch is making him lose all of that. The worst part is that he doesn’t know what to do about it, doesn’t know if there’s anything he can do about it. 

After practice ends he makes to leave but is stopped by a voice that grates on his nerves. Truthfully, he doesn’t hate Atsumu Miya but everything is irritating him these days and the fact that Miya has an arm extended out towards the wall in front of Kiyoomi, effectively cutting off his only route of escape is annoying, to say the least. 

“What’s going on with you Omi-kun?” Atsumu asks. Kiyoomi doesn’t want to raise his gaze up to his face for fear that the other is mocking him or worse, is actually genuinely worried. So instead he huffs and says nothing. The itch in Kiyoomi’s hand worsens. 

“Nothing. I’m fine,” he lies. It should be easy to convince the other and go on his merry way but Atsumu’s arm doesn’t drop. When Kiyoomi lifts his gaze up to the other’s face he sees nothing but genuine curiosity in those light brown eyes and maybe, maybe if Kiyoomi looks longer he can see hints of genuine worry as well but that threatens to choke him so he looks away. “May I leave now?” 

“Can’t lie to a liar, Omi-omi,” Atsumu says and god, Kiyoomi can hear the smirk in his fucking voice without even having to look at him. There’s something entirely too infuriating about Atsumu and the way he refuses to call Kiyoomi anything other than this stupid nickname that he’s come up with, and the way he looks at Kiyoomi for too long, and especially the way he gets too close as well. There’s something infuriating about the way Kiyoomi doesn’t actually hate it all that much, too, but he doesn’t have time to unpack all of that today. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” Kiyoomi spits out, voice strained as the itch sparks up again, right in the middle of his palm and he can’t help it, he reaches out his other hand to scratch, cradling his palm in one hand and using his thumb to scratch. He forgets though, how incredibly perceptive Atsumu is and the second Kiyoomi has his hand palm-up, the blonde gasps and looks at him with wide eyes. 

“Omi-kun, what the fuck happened to your hand?” And Kiyoomi should expect it, really, considering Atsumu is there and he’s loud and overbearing and he’s too much and he doesn’t fucking listen but he doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t expect the other to reach out and swipe two fingers across his palm, right over the angry red marks left behind by Kiyoomi’s nails. He doesn’t expect it but it happens and the second it does, like a switch flipped, the itch fades and Kiyoomi is left staring at his hand in absolute shock. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hisses at Atsumu, retreating his hand fast enough to leave the other reeling and to his surprise when he looks at him, Atsumu seems apologetic. Of course, he’s annoying and overbearing but Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu would never make him uncomfortable on purpose. And the blonde knows or at least is aware of the fact that Kiyoomi doesn’t like to be touched. He’s sure Atsumu has seen the looks that pass over his face when their teammates get too close because he pays too much attention to everyone. He’s perceptive and that in itself makes Kiyoomi feel something he’d rather not unpack right now. 

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly, both of his hands moving down to rest behind his back as if letting Kiyoomi know it won’t happen again. Kiyoomi believes him. “What’s wrong with your hand, though?” 

“That’s none of your business,” Kiyoomi says and huffs, walking away, careful not to let his shoulder bump against Atsumu. 

The itch in his hand has faded completely and Kiyoomi remembers the way Atsumu’s fingertips glided gently over the skin of his palm and shivers. What is it about the other that made the thing that’s been plaguing Kiyoomi for days just...fade away? 

*** 

The next day he wakes up and the itch has faded, the only trace of it lingering behind in the angry red scratch marks that litter his hand. He frowns down at it but chooses not to question the small blessing. When he gets to practice he tells his coach that he’s feeling a lot better and though he looks doubtful he lets Kiyoomi participate. In thanks, Kiyoomi plays the best he has in weeks and everyone seems happy to have him back. 

He doesn’t miss his setter’s eyes following him around the court, though, narrowing every time Kiyoomi goes to spike a ball or clenches his right hand. Kiyoomi can tell the question is right on the tip of Atsumu’s tongue, but he can’t corner him right there during practice. Surely he’s just biding his time so he can interrogate Kiyoomi about his behavior later. He won’t allow that, though, and he makes an escape plan in his head just in case Atsumu is actually planning on questioning him. 

An escape plan that in hindsight should’ve been more thought out, Kiyoomi thinks hours later when he finds himself cornered right by his locker and the wall behind him by none other than the blonde setter who has been throwing questioning looks his way all day. 

Kiyoomi sighs, something deep and heavy that escapes from deep within his chest. He lifts his gaze up and gives Atsumu an unimpressed look. He doesn’t say anything but the question is evident and he’s sure despite the way Atsumu acts, he’s not actually stupid. He can understand exactly what Kiyoomi means. 

“You played well today, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says as he leans a shoulder against the wall of lockers. Kiyoomi could easily sidestep him and walk away but they both know he won’t. “Better than you’ve played all week. Seems like whatever was bothering you isn’t anymore, right?” 

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, lifting his jacket from the hook inside his locker and draping it over one shoulder. “I play well every day. I don’t need you to assess me, Miya.” The locker door slams closed and Kiyoomi turns to fully face Atsumu now. 

Atsumu groans. “Come on, Omi-kun, it was a compliment. Don’t be such a hard-ass.” And then he inches closer, not close enough that Kiyoomi has to pull away but enough so that he can smell Atsumu’s body wash drifting from his freshly washed skin. It’s annoying but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind it. That’s even more annoying. “Seriously, though. Your hand okay?” 

“There was nothing wrong with my hand, Miya, but thanks for the concern,” Kiyoomi can’t keep the annoyance from seeping into his tone and with Atsumu, he doesn’t have to. The other knows very well how much Kiyoomi is annoyed by him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get home.” 

The corners of the blonde’s lips pull down into a frown but he steps aside to allow Kiyoomi to pass by, enough space between their bodies that he won’t feel weird about it but there’s the smell of the body wash again, not obnoxious like Kiyoomi thought it would’ve been. It’s a mint smell, clean and fresh and he hates that he almost wants to halt his steps just to smell it for a little while longer. 

“You know you can always ask me for help, right?” Atsumu says right before Kiyoomi rounds the corner. “I won’t judge or anything. I’m here if you need anything, Omi-kun.” 

Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything simply because Atsumu sounds so honest and it makes his chest tighten with an indescribable feeling. He knows the other can be kind, despite the fact that he puts on an act and tries to be as obnoxious as possible. He knows that he cares for people like he took care of Hinata when he fell ill with the flu or the way he wrapped Bokuto’s fingers up when the guy’s fingers started bleeding mid-practice. Kiyoomi knows there is nothing but truth in those words. 

He turns to look at Atsumu for just a short second, eyes searching his face for something, anything and before he has the chance to find it he realizes that he can’t do this today. He turns and walks away, leaving Atsumu standing there in between the rows of lockers. 

***

For days Kiyoomi is able to play to the best of his abilities and everything seems to return to normal. The team finally stops throwing worried glances his way every time the ball goes his way and the coach seems to be able to breathe just a little better in Kiyoomi’s presence. Bokuto and Hinata cheer for him loudly anytime he makes a particularly good shot which is quite often. Atsumu looks at him with this expression Kiyoomi can’t decipher but maybe that’s because every time he catches the other looking, he looks away, the piercing stare almost scalding in its honesty. 

They don’t talk because Kiyoomi doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to the think about the discomfort he’d been feeling for days, unable to do anything about, and he especially doesn’t want to think about the way Atsumu had simply grazed his fingers over Kiyoomis’ skin and the itch had faded away, almost like it’d never been there in the first place. 

And the next day when the itch starts again, even stronger this time, Kiyoomi grits his teeth hard, frustrated tears building up at the corners of his eyes. His playing will be affected again and he’ll be benched because his hand is itching too much. If he were to say those words out loud he’d feel so ridiculous and surely the coach and the managers would laugh in his face. Surely his teammates would think he was joking too but what explanation can he give them other than this. 

Late at night he tosses and turns, trailing his fingertips over the skin of his palm, his mind turning every one of his options over and over again. The feeling of Atsumu’s fingertips lingers on his skin and Kiyoomi feels it doesn’t make him feel weird. He thinks about every other time someone has touched him and how bile had risen up in his throat, threatening to choke him but somehow, in some way, Atsumu was different. 

He huffs, throwing his blanket off his body and sitting up in his bed. He stares down at his hand as if it has all the answers. It doesn’t, of course, and as much as Kiyoomi wants it to, staring won’t give him a solution. 

He lies back down and thinks about why this might be happening. The last time he’d touched someone other than Atsumu’s hands had been months ago, fleetingly while someone had handed him a paper. And then the itch had started up at random and it wasn’t an infection or anything of that sort as confirmed by the nurse. There was nothing wrong with him. 

And yet. 

He stands and walks to the fridge to grab himself a bottle of water to cool down and it’s then that he realizes that the itch had stopped when Atsumu had touched him. 

Touch. 

It’s something that has made him feel sick his whole life, something that still affects him to this day though he’s managed to find ways to deal with it now. Except now a symptom he’s never felt before has sprung up and with no other way to confirm his thoughts, he has no choice but to touch someone again. If touch is what made the itch go away for days then maybe it’s the answer to Kiyoomi’s problem. How he will stomach touching someone else, or let someone else touch him, that’ll be the real problem. 

When he considers all his options, he knows the best one he has is Atsumu. The other had offered help and when they’d touched, fleeting as it had been, there was no tightening in his chest and no bile rising up to his throat. There were no sirens blaring in Kiyoomi’s mind to get away, to run and place his hand under water hot enough to scald his skin just to cleanse it. But the thought of asking Atsumu to touch him makes a warmth so intense flood his body. He can’t do that simply because he’s supposed to dislike Atsumu. No matter what effect the other has on him, Kiyoomi can’t just go up to him and ask him for this. 

The next obvious choice is Bokuto. He’s kind and very touchy with most of his teammates so it shouldn’t be weird to high-five him mid-game, right? Right. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t sleep well that night. 

***

The next game is a home game and that means Kiyoomi doesn’t have to spend hours on a bus with a bunch of other men to get to wherever he needs to. That’s the only upside to the day because Kiyoomi is nearly losing his mind thanks to the itch that has started acting up again in his hand again. He ices it before the game and hopes for the best. Once again, he catches Atsumu looking at him. The other has taken to just staring at Kiyoomi with a frown on his face these days as if that will mean anything. As if that will make Kiyoomi seek him out and spill all his secrets. 

Plus, there’s nothing to say anyway. Even Kiyoomi hasn’t figured out what’s going on so there’s no need to worry anyone else at the moment. Surely with just a high five or something of that sort the itch will fade away once again. It has to, or else Kiyoomi will have run out of options. 

They win the game. Atsumu is in top form today, as he always is, and he sets the perfect balls to each of his wing spikers. Except for Kiyoomi, that is. Almost every set spiked by his team members lands perfectly on the other side of the court, some of them hitting the ground with so much force that it echoes around the stadium they’re playing in. It’s not really an important game but the cheers are deafening anyway as Bokuto hits a perfect line shot that wins them their second set and then the game is over. Bokuto cheers loudly and the crowd stands on their feet screaming praise for him and the rest of the team. 

Bokuto is too excited as he always is and is looking for a double high five from the nearest teammate. Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and readies himself for the inevitable. He has to do it; there’s no other choice. He raises both hands, arms shaking and his palms hit Bokuto’s with a resounding slap. 

The bile rises up to his throat but Kiyoomi manages to force himself to breathe through it, teeth clenched as he lowers his arms again. Bokuto, to his credit, seems surprised to see Kiyoomi standing there in front of him. He doesn’t want to look around but he knows everyone else is just as surprised. His hands clench into fists tightly by his side and he tries to take deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. Once enough time has passed that it won’t look weird to the fans who’ve come to cheer for them for Kiyoomi to run out of the gym, he makes his way to the locker room. Mindlessly, he walks to the sink, chest still heaving as he tries to catch his breath while running his hands under the water, searing hot as it runs over the skin of his palm. 

Bokuto’s hands had been slick with sweat and the feeling of someone else’s skin against his for even that long had been enough to make Kiyoomi want to throw up. Once he’s scrubbed his hands a few times with the soap and water, he hops in the shower, finishing up right as the others start piling into the locker room. They’re all talking loudly, cheering and slapping each other good-naturedly and Kiyoomi’s frown deepens.

“Sakusa, you okay?” Meian asks, walking closer to Kiyoomi but not close enough that he feels he can’t breathe. He knows they’re all aware of what just happened and they’re giving him his space and for that, he is eternally grateful. But he really, really doesn’t want to explain himself. 

“I’m fine. I’ll be going now,” he tells them and watches as they nod and give him small smiles, not pushing him further. Before Kiyoomi leaves the room he stops by where Bokuto is standing, hair slightly less spikey than it was when the game had just finished. Kiyoomi knows the boy is stressing over what just happened and though talking is the last thing Kiyoomi wants to do now he feels bad leaving Bokuto behind like this. 

“Bokuto,” Kiyoomi says calmly. Inunaki and Barnes who are huddled around him look up at Kiyoomi, nod once and then walk away. “What happened just now, that wasn’t your fault. Please forget it.” 

It’s almost comical the way Bokuto’s face lights up and Kiyoomi swears his hair starts slowly rising up again as if it is powered solely by happiness and not the endless amount of gel products Kiyoomi has seen in Bokuto’s locker. The other smiles slightly, gentle and nods once at Kiyoomi. 

“I just hope I didn’t--” Bokuto starts to say and Kiyoomi shakes his head quickly. Whatever Bokuto thinks he did, Kiyoomi wants to assure him that he didn’t but he doesn’t have the right words to do that. 

“You didn’t. It’s fine, really.” 

And with that, he makes to walk out of the locker room, finally able to breathe once he’s fully outside. The night is chilly here and Kiyoomi pulls his jacket closer to his body, the ache in his hand worsening by the second. It’s that moment that Kiyoomi realizes that all of that was for nothing. The skin to skin contact he was so sure would help did nothing but worsen the ache in his right hand. Just a moment, he allows himself just a moment to feel helpless before he takes a deep breath and starts walking. 

“Kiyoomi.” 

It’s odd; he’s so used to Atsumu calling him a variety of nicknames that hearing his full name come from his mouth makes Kiyoomi pause, turning his head just slightly to look at the other. He’s standing there in his black jacket, hair still dripping from his shower and it’s dark now but the way the moonlight shines on the right side of his face, illuminating it enough that Kiyoomi sees the genuine worry in his face, makes his chest tighten. 

There are many emotions swirling inside Kiyoomi as he thinks about how for weeks now he’s had to live with this almost unbearable itch in his hand, like a constant bad headache. And then he thinks about how with one gentle, light touch from Atsumu’s fingertips it had faded for days, giving Kiyoomi a more than necessary break. 

He thinks about Atsumu, standing there, looking at Kiyoomi with big brown eyes, mouth curved downward as if he cares. He thinks about Atsumu’s words and his offer of help and how despite the act the other puts on, he cares so deeply for people. 

He thinks his heart is beating too fast, faster than it ever has before. 

“Miya,” Kiyoomi says, finally turning to face the blonde and he wants to school his expression into his signature blank look but he’s exhausted right now. Too exhausted to really pretend, especially with Miya Atsumu who looks too carefully and catches sight of the real Kiyoomi in between the cracks of his facade. The Miya Atsumu who gives him his space but doesn’t allow him to put up his walls as well as he’d like. The Miya Atsumu who touched him and didn’t make Kiyoomi feel like he was falling apart. 

“What’s wrong?” The question is stressed in a way that makes Kiyoomi feel like he wants to tell the truth. Right here, outside the stadium they practice at every day —where Atsumu sets for the team with the precision of a calligrapher, weaving beautiful sets in the air, where Kiyoomi flies and makes those balls slice through the air with enough force to shake the building— he wants to tell the truth. 

Except the truth is bizarre and confusing. How can he tell Atsumu that his hand fucking itches? How can he tell him that there’s an ache in it that won’t let up, something that is debilitating and effecting Kiyoomi’s playing? And how in the world can he tell Atsumu that the only thing that seems to make it go away is his touch? 

It’s crazy. 

It’s too bizarre and Kiyoomi is scared to tell him this and have Atsumu laugh in his face. He knows that’s not who Atsumu is because, despite being a jerk to most of his teammates during practice, he cares. But—and there’s always a but— there have been way too many instances in Kiyoomi’s life where he’s revealed too much and the people who he thought would support him turned away. Since then he’s learned to not say too much, to not say anything at all. 

His hand itches but he doesn’t scratch at it. 

“There’s nothing wrong. I’m fine.” 

“Liar. You’re a rotten liar,” Atsumu huffs, crossing his arms over his chest as his gaze pierces Kiyoomi’s. “Nothing is fine. For weeks it hasn’t been. And what was that with Bo-kun today? You looked sick, Omi-kun.” 

“You just don’t know when to leave well enough alone, huh?” And now it’s Kiyoomis turns to huff, moving a curl that has fallen across his forehead out of the way with one hand. “Even if something was going on, what makes you think I would tell you?” 

“Because I can help. Whatever it is, I can help you with it.” 

The words are so honest that they make Kiyoomi’s chest tighten again, almost painfully this time. And god, his heart, his poor heart starts beating so loudly in his ribcage that he’s sure at any second it will break free and start floating around. Maybe it will mock Kiyoomi while it takes flight, mock him for the fact that of all people in the world who have looked Kiyoomi’s way, he chose to let Miya Atsumu make his heart beat this fast. 

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly, the fight slowly draining out of his voice as he looks down. Atsumu is still standing too far away but Kiyoomi feels his presence anyway. He’s impossible to ignore, after all. 

“Then tell me. Tell me so I can know.” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head in disbelief at the other’s bluntness before turning around. He looks back at Atsumu and motions for him to follow with his head. 

“Come on, then.” He doesn’t wait for Atsumu to catch up but the other is by his side in just a few seconds anyway. “You’re annoying, you know that?” 

The smile he gets in return is too bright; Kiyoomi looks away. 

*** 

To Atsumu’s very evident surprise, they end up back at Kiyoomi’s apartment. It’s only a short walk from the stadium and he knows Atsumu has a roommate so if he’s going to tell the other about his very bizarre situation then he’d rather do it in the comfort of his own home. 

The elevator ride up is quiet but once they get inside Atsumu looks around with some odd childlike wonder and makes a comment about everything he sees. The pictures hanging up on the wall of his family are apparently “so freaking cute” and the shelf of books “makes Kiyoomi looks smart but I bet you haven’t even read half of these have you, Omi-kun” and it’s safe to say Kiyoomi is slowly starting to regret some things. 

Once he clears his throat and gives Atsumu an unamused look though, the other sobers up, shooting back a lopsided smile. One that despite Kiyoomi’s best efforts still makes his heart beat too fast, always so damn fast. They settle down on the couch, Kiyoomi taking the far right side and Atsumu settling down on the left side, leaving space in between them. 

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Kiyoomi starts “—but you have to promise that you won’t laugh. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t say anything at all.” 

“You want me to be silent? That’s tough for me, you know this Omi-omi.” A smirk graces Atsumu’s features for just a second before his face gets serious again. “But I’ll do it for you.” 

His heart is a traitor, Kiyoomi thinks because at every word Atsumu says tonight it starts acting like a hummingbird trapped in a cage. There’s never been anyone who’s words have affected Kiyoomi like this before and he’s unsure what to do with it. He’s unsure if she should do anything about it at all. 

“A few weeks ago I got this itch in my dominant hand. It started off small and I thought it would go away, eventually. It didn’t so I went to speak to the nurse and she gave me a cream. I tried it out but it was greasy and made it worse, I think. Nothing really helped.” Here, Kiyoomi takes a break both to gauge Atsumu’s reaction and to consider his next words carefully. “Well, I thought nothing helped. Until you. That day when you touched my hand, well, it stopped. And it was fine for a few days. Until it started back up again, worse this time.” 

“And you thought it was physical contact? That was the answer?” Atsumu asks, eyes wide and mouth agape as he looks at Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi nods. 

“That’s why you high fived Bo-kun today. You were trying to make it go away, right?” 

Another nod. 

“And did it?” 

Kiyoomi shakes his head. 

The look that crosses Atsumu’s face at this knocks the breath out of Kiyoomi’s lungs. There’s wonder in his eyes and there’s likely a thousand questions he wants to ask, too. But he looks at Kiyoomi like this isn’t as crazy as it seems and finally, finally, Kiyoomi feels lighter at not having to hold onto this alone. 

“So it’s just. It’s just me. My touch,” Atsumu says, eyes looking down at Kiyoomi’s hand that’s resting upon the cushion of the couch. He curls his fingers in, nails dragging against the felt material of the cushion before he spreads them out again, turning his palm so it’s facing up. There are red marks on the skin still, some from earlier, some lingering from days ago but Kiyoomi sees the way Atsumu traces them with his eyes. 

“Yes,” he breathes. “Just you. Your touch.” 

It’s quiet for what feels like ages, the only sound is Kiyoomi’s rapidly beating heart but surely he’s the only one that can hear that. It’s faster than anything he’s heard, pounding against his ribcage and at this point, it wouldn’t surprise him if there were cracks in his bones and he started falling apart any second now.

“Kiyoomi, can I—” Atsumu trails off, looking at Kiyoomi’s hand still as his own hand reaches out, crawling across the couch cushions so it’s near his hand. 

Kiyoomi nods once more and Atsumu moves closer, cautiously until he’s sitting right next to him. Though Atsumu has touched him before and it was fine, Kiyoomi still steels himself, ready for the discomfort and the bile to choke him. He prepares, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. 

But. 

Atsumu picks up his hand with careful fingertips. He opens the palm of his right hand and lets the back of Kiyoomi’s hand rest on it. Though his eyes are closed, Kiyoomi can feel the other’s gaze on him. 

A deep breath makes his chest expand and the exhale comes out shaky through parted lips. So far, the touch is okay. So far, Kiyoomi is okay. Slowly, his eyelids lift and he looks up to find Atsumu staring at him, concern and awe mixing together to create a look that is almost too much for Kiyoomi’s heart. 

“Is this okay?” 

Another nod. 

Gentle fingertips come up, slowly, carefully lowering on top of Kiyoomi’s palm. The angry red marks seem that much angrier from up close but then they are obstructed from his view as a soft touch tickles his skin. 

And the itch, the ache, it floats away as if it were a curse broken. The thing that’s been plaguing Kiyoomi for weeks just drifts off like a boat wading in water. The heaviness lifts from his chest and he gasps as he watches Atsumu trail the lines of his hand so carefully. 

“Your skin is so soft, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says through a tender smile. Tender like his words, like his touch. 

“Atsumu,” is all Kiyoomi can manage through his awe. He’s being touched and for once, everything feels okay. It makes him shiver. “Thank you.” 

Atsumu's surprise is clear as day on his face when Kiyoomi speaks. He shakes his head and Kiyoomi wonders what this feels like for him. He wants to ask if he’s ever felt this free before but he knows that not everyone experience’s things the way he does and that’s okay. He’s just thankful that he can experience this. 

“There’s no need to thank me for anything, Omi-kun. I said I would help, didn’t I?” 

The smile is blinding again and Kiyoomi feels himself being pulled in, completely captivated by the brightness of it. None of that brightness is evident in Kiyoomi but even if it was, it would be outshined by how intense Atsumu glows. He’d thought that since the first day he met him. There’s something so incredibly radiant about this man that Kiyoomi wonders how he was ever able to look away. 

He gives back a smile of his own, just the corners of his lips quirking up into something gentle and warm. 

His other hand comes up to wrap around Atsumu’s wrist while his fingers trail mindless lines across Kiyoomi’s hand, cautiously testing the waters of not just being touched but touching back. The skin is warm and when Kiyoomi’s fingers curl around his wrist he can feel Atsumu’s pulse against his fingertips, a quick thing just like his own heartbeat. 

“Thank you,” he says again and this time, he lets himself dive deep into Atsumu’s bright smile. 

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAAAA OKAY. This is my first time writing for Haikyuu so I'm just a little bit nervous but also really excited. Hope you enjoyed that and I hope I did them justice.  
>   
> Thank you to Cam for beta-ing this for me and also Hana and Jo for reading it over when I started psyching myself out hehe. I'm on twitter [ @babyamas ](https://twitter.com/babyamas) if you guys wanna discuss anything okay bye now I've talked enough.


End file.
